The Apple Orchard. Сьюзен Виггс
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to the hospital. How did you get there? Did some big hunky EMT rescue you?”
“You got the big and hunky part right. Dominic took me.”
“The banker guy?” Neelie’s eyes widened in bafflement. In their lexicon, “banker” was code for boring.
“He waited for me, too. I think he felt guilty for making my head explode.”
“I certainly hope so.” Neelie rummaged around in a cupboard and found a pair of big mugs for the soup. “What did the doctors say?”
“That my head is about to explode. Or, more accurately, my heart.” Tess showed her the information from the ER.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m scared for you, Tess.”
“I’m scared for me.”
“Then you need to take care of yourself. You’re all stressed out and this bomb that just got dropped on you... It’s too much for anyone to process. First thing, you need some time off work.”
“No way.” Tess’s reaction was swift, automatic. “I don’t take time off work for anything.”
“How do you suppose you got yourself into this situation, anyway, hmm?” Neelie led her to the kitchen bar, forced her to sit down. “Eat. Chicken soup. I hear it’s good for the soul.”
“I don’t think the problem is with my soul.”
“Whatever. Eat. You’re too skinny. And as you know, skinny girls tend to piss off their friends.” Neelie handed her a warm fresh bread roll from the deli bag.
Tess bit into the roll, redolent of herbs and butter. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” she said.
Neelie’s fingers flew over the screen of her phone. “There,” she said. “I just sent a text to Jude. Told him to let your office know you’re taking some time—”
“What? Give me that.” Tess grabbed for the phone.
Neelie held it out of reach. “Too late. Just eat the damn soup, Tess.”
Resentfully, Tess sampled the soup. Delicious, but it tasted like defeat. “Today was supposed to be my big breakthrough at work. I had a meeting with Dane Sheffield himself. I’m pretty sure he was going to offer me a position most people only dream about—New York, right alongside the biggest players in the field. And I stood him up.”
“You had a personal emergency. Tess, you get to have a life. I think what happened today is a sign that you need to have a life.” Neelie paged through the recommendations from the ER. “So this is perfect. You need down time. You could take some time, go to Archangel, figure out what this guy is talking about—a grandfather. A sister. In Archangel. I’ve been there, you know.”
“Archangel?”
“It’s in Sonoma County—the prettiest part, if you ask me. Boutique wineries everywhere, some of them world class. Ivar took me there—remember Ivar, the Norwegian hottie?”
“Two or three boyfriends ago.”
“We stayed at a B and B. There’s this amazing town square, fruit stands everywhere, scenery so gorgeous it doesn’t even seem real. Wines you won’t find anywhere else in the world. It was magic. It’s the kind of place that makes you question why you live in the city.”
“Because we have work here. Jobs and friends. Duh.”
“Well, whether you like it or not, you have some personal matters to see to in Archangel. I know you, Tess. If you don’t go, you’re going to stress out about it, and that’s exactly what you’re supposed to be avoiding. You’re going to lie awake at night wondering about this sister, and the poor old guy who fell off the ladder.” She grabbed Dominic Rossi’s card from the top of a stack of mail on the counter. “I’m calling him for you.”
“Don’t—”
“Eat.”
“Bossy old thing,” Tess muttered. But she ate.
* * *
The next day, Tess jumped out of bed, surprised by the time showing on the screen of her phone, but not in the least surprised that there was no message from her mother.
Leaping up, she rushed through brushing teeth and hair, pulling on dark wash jeans and a black cashmere turtleneck. Then she yanked open the closet and surveyed the cluttered press of clothing in her overstuffed closet. What did one take to the probable deathbed of a stranger, and to see a sister one had never met?
She flung a variety of items into an overnight bag, dropped her phone into the no-man’s-land that was her purse, then added the charger, as well. This development—Archangel, Bella Vista, Magnus and Isabel—had left her completely scattered. She had no idea how to feel about all that had happened.
Figure out what the next step is, and then take it. Miss Winther’s words drifted unbidden into Tess’s mind.
“Okay, so the next step is—”
The buzzer went off.
“Answer the door,” she muttered. Dammit, he was faster than she’d expected. Her apartment was in its usual state of disarray. She made no apology for that, though the arrival of Dominic Rossi made her self-conscious about her messy habits—piles of research clutter on the coffee table, sticky notes everywhere because she didn’t trust her memory, last night’s dishes she hadn’t bothered to do, hand-washed lingerie draped over a lamp in the corner.
Too bad, she thought. She wasn’t going to change her ways just to impress some banker.
However, the word banker did not compute when she opened the door and looked up at him. For some reason, he had the kind of face that drained her IQ down to two-digit territory.
“Um. I’m not ready,” she said.
“I’ll wait until you are,” he replied easily. “I’m glad you called, Tess. How are you?”
“What? Oh, that. I’m okay. Really. You know, I never properly thanked you for helping out at the hospital, for being there.”
“I wasn’t expecting thanks. I’m glad you’re all right.” And he gave her that slow smile of his, brandishing it like a secret weapon. “Mind if I come in?”
“No, I just need a few minutes more.” She felt a little self-conscious, watching him as he looked around her place. The apartment made perfect sense to her, but to a stranger, the old things probably seemed eccentric, or at the very least, sentimental.
“I like your place,” he said, checking out a walnut radio console on the counter. “Is this a family heirloom?”
“Yes.” She closed up her laptop and started rummaging around for its case. “Not my family, though. That radio—there’s a message on the back.”
He turned it and read, “‘To Walter, a very brave boy, at Christmas. 1943.’ Who was Walter?”
“I’m not sure. I just... I’m drawn to things that have a past. A story.”
He picked up a deck prism, which she used as a paperweight.
“That’s from the Mary Dare, wrecked at the mouth of the Columbia in 1876. The prisms were used to let light in below decks.” She found the laptop case and put it with her overnight bag.
“And this?” He held up an elongated piece of carved ivory, with scrimshaw etchings on the surface.
“It’s called a he’s-at-home.”
“Which is...?”
“A sex toy,” she said, trying not to laugh as he quickly set the thing down. “On Nantucket Island, back in the days of whaling, the women used to get lonely when the men were gone for years at a time, hunting whales.”
“No wonder whaling was outlawed.”